ers to him; he, good man, knows nothing of the matter, and honest
Isaac Bickerstaff, I warrant you, is more a man of honour, than to be an
accomplice with a pack of rascals, that walk the streets on nights, and
disturb good people in their beds; but he is out, if he thinks the whole
world is blind; for there is one John Partridge can smell a knave as
far as Grubstreet,--tho' he lies in the most exalted garret, and writes
himself 'Squire:--

But I'll keep my temper, and proceed in the narration.

I could not stir out of doors for the space of three months after this,
but presently one comes up to me in the street; Mr Partridge, that
coffin you was last buried in I have not been yet paid for: Doctor,
cries another dog, How d'ye think people can live by making of graves
for nothing? Next time you die, you may e'en toll out the bell yourself
for Ned. A third rogue tips me by the elbow, and wonders how I have the
conscience to sneak abroad without paying my funeral expences. Lord,
says one, I durst have swore that was honest Dr. Partridge, my old
friend; but poor man, he is gone. I beg your pardon, says another, you
look so like my old acquaintance that I used to consult on some private
occasions; but, alack, he's gone the way of all flesh---- Look, look,
look, cries a third, after a competent space of staring at me, would not
one think our neighbour the almanack-maker, was crept out of his grave
to take t'other peep at the stars in this world, and shew how much he is
improv'd in fortune-telling by having taken a journey to the other?

Nay, the very reader, of our parish, a good sober, discreet person, has
sent two or three times for me to come and be buried decently, or send
him sufficient reasons to the contrary, if I have been interr'd in any
other parish, to produce my certificate, as the act requires. My poor
wife is almost run distracted with being called Widow Partridge, when
she knows its false; and once a term she is cited into the court, to
take out letters of administration. But the greatest grievance is, a
paultry quack, that takes up my calling just under my nose, and in his
printed directions with N.B. says, He lives in the house of the late
ingenious Mr. John Partridge, an eminent practitioner in leather,
physick and astrology.

But to show how far the wicked spirit of envy, malice and resentment can
hurry some men, my nameless old persecutor had provided me a monument at
the stone-cutter's and would have e